


The Boy Who Died For Love

by Frumion_III



Series: A Boy Who Made All The Wrong Choices. [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Companion Piece, Death, Love Stories, M/M, Senseless without the parent fic, Tragedy, not a stand alone fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumion_III/pseuds/Frumion_III
Summary: This is the story of a boy, dead before his time, who chose to give his life for the boy he loved. Indus Black was the scion of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, an artist, a dreamer and a boy who loved with all his soul. This is the story of Indus Black's final year, how he loved, and how he he died.





	The Boy Who Died For Love

When Gellert collapsed for the second time, Indus hadn’t been there for him. It was Vinda who had been there, and she was the one who found Indus later, sitting in the window seat of his room and waiting for Gellert to drop by. He had read what happened on her face, had seen it in her pitying stare. He didn’t register crying out, unaware of anything around him as he stood up with a start. “What happened? Is he all right?” He said, voice choked by the tears that he couldn’t stop from falling.  
“He is in the infirmary. They’re thinking of moving him, his mother’ll be coming to pick him up tomorrow if he hasn’t woken up by then.” Said Vinda gently, and Indus all but ran to the infirmary without looking back. 

He swore softly as the charcoal he had been gripping snapped into fragments, scattering black smears over the drawing of Gellert’s prone form. It had been going quite well, this sketch managing to avoid the suggestion of a white shroud in the blankets Gellert was tucked under, and he had been starting on the the detailing of Gellert’s hair and the shadows it threw onto the pillow before he had snapped the stick of charcoal. He carefully picked up his wand and muttered a localised cleaning spell over the smudges of black, going back to the drawing with the largest of the fragments, unwilling to leave to get another piece in case Gellert woke while he was gone. The Healer came into the room where Gellert was lying and Fixed him with a beady stare. “Visiting hours are closed, young man. You should be abed yourself, and I’ll not have you disturbing my patient.” She said, and Indus scowled. He straightened up, drawing on the lessons in intimidation his uncle had begun giving him last summer, and stared the healer down.  
“I am Indus Pollux Black, second of my name, scion of the Black family, and that is the person I intend on spending my future with. You may try, if you like, to remove me from this room, but it will take more than a dark look. When he wakes I mean to be here for him, so here I’ll stay.” He said, his grey eyes flashing and his words strong, crackling with family magic as he spoke his full name and watched as the shadows leapt and danced from where he sat. The healer backed out of the room with a somewhat scared look and Indus let himself smile with relief, glad that she hadn’t called his bluff. He let out a long sigh, tension melting from him as he slumped over his sketch, hand on Gellert’s cold fingers, willing him to wake. 

The next morning he woke with a start to see that his drawings had fallen off the bed, the broken charcoal smearing all of them beyond repair as they lay there, crumpled on the floor. Indus rubbed his red-rimmed eyes free of sleep and unwittingly left black smudges of dust across his face, only to be tapped on the shoulder. He turned to see Gellert’s mother and straightened, his posture perfected in a split second despite his exhaustion as he came face to face with the worn figure in front of him. “It’s lovely to see you ma’am, despite the regrettable circumstances.” he managed, his voice wobbling at the end of the sentence as he was reminded of the deathly still form of his lover that lay behind him.  
“Indus you don’t have to be so formal, especially at a time like this.” said Gellert’s mother softly, and Indus smiled, wondering what it would be like to have a parent who discouraged manners at any point. His own mother would have commended him for his composure, then perhaps offered a hug in a quiet moment where they were in a less public setting. He offered a smile that splintered at the edges, and asked if Gellert would be being moved from school immediately. “Yes, as soon as he wakes he’ll be coming home with me.”  
“If it isn’t too much trouble, could I speak to him before you go? There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.” Said Indus, and swallowed. It wouldn’t be the right time, he should wait until Gellert was better to ask, but the whole mess had brought everything into perspective, and he knew that he would be sending a letter to his family that night. 

He wrote the letter during charms and send it spinning into the fireplace of the classroom with a levitation charm when the professor’s back was turned, and received a reply in the infirmary when his lessons were finished for the day. Vinda had brought food up from the kitchens for both of them, and Indus ate his with gusto, realising that he had had neither breakfast nor lunch. He was still a little hungry afterwards, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch the third portion that Vinda had brought, the meal seeming symbolic, the hope that Gellert would be awake to eat it obvious in the careful plate of his favourite foods that Vinda had arranged. Almost as soon as Vinda had left for the evening, the package arrived. It was thick, stiff parchment envelope enclosing a letter and a bag of luxurious black velvet, the stitching silver and the drawstrings blue above the embroidered family crest. Indus unfolded the grey parchment, breaking the seal of black wax embossed with the crest and scanning the letter, looking down at his mother’s spidery hand and his father’s heavy signature with a smile. He put the letter to one side, running his thumb over the contents of the bag through the velvet before loosening the drawstring and pulling out the rings within. They were a matched set, white gold with shards of onyx and sapphires inlaid into the band. The inside was engraved with the family motto, the calligraphic inscription ‘Toujours Pur’ cut into the band of metal with perfect precision. Indus had been shown them once before, in the box where they were kept in the family manor, and he still shuddered at the grim story of their creation. They were goblin forged, the second pair of rings in a set of sixteen that had been quenched in the blood of the goblin that had had made them and been polished in starlight by a high elf, the thanks they had given for the goblin’s death. They were beautiful, ancient and heavy in Indus’ hands, yet they felt as if they had been waiting for him to have need of them. The heir and heir-consort rings of The House, shining in his hands like the cold light of the stars in which they had been polished. He wanted to slide one onto Gellert’s ring finger now, but knew the rules. The ritual of the rings had to be done right, the words spoken and the family magics invoked. He would ask when Gellert woke up, and perhaps midsummer would be the night when they did the ritual. It was the next annual high-point for the olde magics. 

He tucked the velvet bag into the breast pocket of his robes as the Healer came back into the room, this time flanked by the headmaster. “Black, you need to leave.” said the headmaster shortly, and Indus opened his mouth to protest, but he was stopped before he could give indignant voice to his argument.  
“We need to do diagnostic spells and your magic will interfere with the process.” said the healer, and Indus shot her a hateful look when he thought he saw the edges of a smile dancing in her face, getting up grudgingly and leaving at as slow a pace as could feasibly be excused. The stairs seemed longer than they ever had, his unwillingness to leave and complete exhaustion united in their efforts to trip him up with every step. Indus let his shoulders slump as he got to the privacy of his room, undressing carelessly after he had removed the rings from his pocket and carefully cleared a place for them among the piles of sketches and pots of paintbrushes that littered the table by his bed. He would ask in the morning, he thought to himself as he got into bed at last, hand unconsciously going to his bedside table to feel the rings resting heavily in their velvet pouch, and tried to get to sleep, his bed feeling cold and empty without Gellert lying there beside him. 

He woke too late to go and visit Gellert before lessons began, not even having time for breakfast before the bell tolled out the start of lessons. He had been anxious to slip away to the infirmary but he couldn’t bring himself to skip arithmancy, knowing how offended Gellert would be about it if he knew, and was unable to truant potions with Vinda watching, but when he got to the infirmary at break Gellert was gone. Indus stared dully at the mused bedsheets, uncomprehending for a brief moment before he felt his eyes fill with tears. Gellert had woken up without him there, didn’t see his scattered charcoal drawings or get the chance to answer his question, didn’t even know he would have asked, and something about the way the sheets lay, a canvass without the centre piece, somehow looked more empty than a bed had any right to. Indus sank into the chair he had spent the night in yesterday, the pristine velvet of the bag that held so many of his hopes crushed in his white-knuckled grip as he felt the tears splash down his face and onto the cloth of his sleeves. 

After he had found Gellert’s infirmary bed empty he couldn’t concentrate, could barely see the classes he was sitting in through the film of tears in his eyes. Days and then weeks seemed to slip by, and Indus drew and drew. He was starting a bigger piece, a portrait of the two of them that he was going to paint with charmed oils so that it would move, and his room was littered with preliminary sketches of it. His own expression was hardest to capture, Gellert’s half smile familiar and easy to draw in comparison to his own face. He couldn’t seem to get a hard stare out of his eyes, drawing from a mirror proving difficult as he tended to look slightly more intense than he usually did when drawing. He would deal with that later, but he couldn’t put it off forever as he wanted the picture to be finished for the end of term when he would take it round to Gellert’s house en route to Grimmauld Place. Before he knew it exams and then the end of term was upon him, and for the first time since first year he spent to boat ride without Gellert. It was that unexpectedly keen sense of loss that struck him the hardest, his sorrow as sudden as it was potent as he sat down without Gellert’s smile to warm the compartment he was in. 

“Does he accept?” asked his mother when he walked through the door of Grimmauld Place, a light smile falling from her face as Indus’ expression crumpled at the question.  
“He, I never even got to ask before—” He started, voice unsteady, and his mother blanched.  
“He’s dead? Oh Indus I’m—”  
“No,” he interrupted, “He was taken ill and they didn’t even let me say goodbye before he went home.”  
“Oh thank the fey, I’ve grown to like the sound of him and I want to meet him at some point before your union.” joked Cassiopeia, and Indus cracked his first smile in weeks. The summer flew by in a mess of oil paints and pencil, charcoal and brightly coloured inks, as Indus tested out which medium he preferred for his portrait of them, but there was a nagging absence of any letters from Gellert that had him worried. Gellert and he always wrote, their letters a lifeline for him when he felt isolated by the oppressive grey heat of London’s summer, and their notable absence gnawed at him, feeding his growing fear that Gellert was too unwell to even write, that he would never get the chance to give him a ring before the fateful letter from the ministry declared him dead. The idea tore at him no matter how hard he tried to convince himself of it’s absurdity, and so when he was invited dinner in late August he leapt at the opportunity to see Gellert properly once more, more or less alive and well, but most importantly, still breathing. 

Gellert looked like something inside him had shattered when he met Indus’ eye and the small smile he offered seemed to make it worse. Indus thought guiltily that perhaps seeing him reminded Gellert of being so ill at school, or maybe he had blamed Indus for not being there when he woke up. The evening had been a little strained, Gellert’s attempt to distract him with some new invention unsuccessful, but there was a look in his eyes that asked Indus not to say anything about his mood, so he stayed silent. He offered a hug and smiled into the passionate kiss that Gellert offered, hoping that he could help distract the other boy from whatever was bothering him. When they broke apart Indus smiled and quirked an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side as he felt Gellert’s intense gaze meander downwards and he met Gellert’ eyes with a half-lidded look of promise, laughing a little as Gellert threw up a silencing ward with a flick of his fingers. “I want to forget everything.” said the other boy, his voice raw with emotion, and Indus felt his body thrum with arousal at the words. 

Gellert roughly pulled him down onto the bed on top of him, not something that usually happened, and Indus swallowed, nervous at the idea of trying something new when Gellert was in such a fragile state. Gellert ground their hips together and Indus’ mind short circuited, letting him forget his concerns in favour of baser desire. “I want you to fuck me.” Gellert said, unusually blunt and dirty, which Indus found strangely attractive. Indus moaned and waisted no time, almost tearing off their clothes in his hurry to do as he was bid, and muttered the spell he had found for a kind of magical slick that made relations between two men less painful. Indus moaned breathily, wondering why they had never tired it this way around before, and curled his fingers in the way he knew from experience would feel best. “What was that?” asked Gellert, breath hitching as Indus repeated the motion. He added another finger and reapplied the slicking spell, not wanting to cause anything like pain, and stretched Gellert out further. He kept this up until Gellert was moaning and aroused before replacing his fingers with his cock and paused at Gellert’s entrance. Sliding in was the best thing Indus could remember feeling, the heat and pressure a powerful aphrodisiac as he bottomed out, pausing again as he let Gellert get accustomed to the new feeling. Gellert half-laughed, though Indus didn’t quite know why, and leaned up towards Indus, fixed him with a hazy glare before he spoke. “I said fuck me.” His tone was a clear challenge, and Indus let himself move, setting the pace his body demanded of him. Gellert moaned loudly and Indus smiled at the sound, wondering if it felt as good for Gellert as it did for him. He lost himself in the repetitive motions, every thrust seeming to last eons and microseconds at the same time as Indus grew closer to completion. He lost some of his pacing, thrusting faster as his climax approached and felt Gellert come undone moments before he did, tightening around him deliciously as light flickered in the windows, another summer storm. 

Indus settled down, exhausted by the sheer physicality of he had just done and feeling stated and drowsy. He had no idea how Gellert could do that and then still have enough energy to chat incomprehensibly about arithmantic theorems, and laughed quietly when Gellert demanded food in a petulant tone almost immediately. “I’m hungry, so either let me get up to make some food or do it yourself.” Indus raised an eyebrow and pointed out, quite rightly, that he had done all of the work and would therefor be doing nothing of the kind.  
“You’d think you’d be in a better mood after sex,” he added in a musing tone. Gellert shot him a faux-glare and he smiled, kissing the corner of Gellert’s mouth before speaking again. “Fine, make your food. If you were planning to make me some I’d love you forever.” he added hopefully, and Gellert got up to do so, grumbling all the way but not actually begrudgingly as far as Indus could tell. He smiled and sat back in the bed, then got up to find a towel, because he didn’t think they should eat without at least attempting to clean the sheets and get rid of the smell of sex. He opened the window and wiped the bed down before getting back in and waiting for Gellert to come back. 

They talked for a little, then slept, and Indus woke early, the thrashing of Gellert’s nightmare ridden form, and tried in vain for sleep. Gellert woke, panicked and breathing so fast Indus feared for his health, but he sensed that the other boy would rather have this moment of weakness in private, pretending to sleep on, unaware of Gellert’s fitful sleep. That week Indus tried to decide on an appropriate gift for Gellert for the start of term, and had been wondering down Knockturn Alley in London when he had seen the shop. ‘Fitz’ Finest Blades for Magicks Foule.’ read the sign, and Indus ducked through the door with a grin. He walked in awe among the racks of blades, all labeled with the different branches of dark magic they were designed to work best for. He spotted a thin greying man at the counter and smiled warmly. “I’m looking for your finest blade.” he said, his tone oozing Black Family superiority.  
“You’ll need to be a little more specific lad, I’ve many a fine blade in this shop.” replied the man with a laugh, tone familiar and unbothered by Indus’ cold hauteur. He asked for a blade meant for blood magic, and was shown a shelf of beautiful knives. He looked at ones that were encrusted with red garnets that held magic within them, blades that shone with a diamond edge, blades that were simple metal carved with runes of power, but then one caught his eye. The blade itself was fire opal, a Native American magical tradition, and the handle was formed of carved human bone, the obsidian stones fused seamlessly into the grip that fit his hand perfectly. Indus was a little embarrassed to admit that he knew human bone by touch, but there was more than one statue made of it in the manor in France, and he had been given a lesson from his aunt on bone texture recognition when he was ten that he would never forget. He took it down carefully and had it placed in a velvet lined box. The old man raised an eyebrow and told him the cost, shaking his head with a wry smile when Indus made no attempt to haggle for a lower price, and nodded to him. As he walked towards the door, the man spoke again, his rasping voice alight with a strange certainty. “That blade is marked by death to come, beware it, Scion Black.” Indus left, wondering how the man knew who he was, and what on earth it could mean that a blade was ‘marked’ by death. 

The rest of the summer slid past like oil paint on water and before he knew it Indus was meeting up with his friends on the boat, smiling widely before he offered Gellert the ritual blade that had seemed so perfect for him when he had first seen it in the shop. Gellert looked at the blade as if he had seen a ghost, and when he looked up he thanked Indus with a haunted expression in his eyes that Indus was beginning to be able to recognise with worrying familiarity. His thanks seemed genuine, and Indus smirked, distracting Gellert from whatever had trapped that horror in his eyes with a lewd joke, well worth the hex from Vinda that he received for his trouble. That evening Indus waited up for a soft knock at his door, wondering when Gellert would have a free moment. The rings lay heavy in his pocket, where they had taken up permeant residence during the summer, but he felt that it was not yet the right time to ask. He staved off sleep, half expecting a knock on the door at any given moment, but hours picked by in a strange silence until he gave up, undressing for bed and sliding between the cold covers alone. 

Their fifth year had begun in full force and Indus was afraid, though he could’t say what of. It was a creeping sense of foreboding, a prickling unease that stemmed from the family magics that ran through his blood. There was some unbalance in the world that he could feel, some sick wrongness that was hanging in the air around the castle, and he was jumpy and nervous because of it. He went to the kitchens one night in early September, seeking answers from the Fey, but he was only spoken to in riddles. “You are they key, Scion of our allies, you will shatter the lock and free the lonely, give breath to a power that will lie over the memory of the worlds for eternity, and you will accept your role with the knowledge of what you give life to.” Said one, and then he had found himself pushed outside the room with a forceful blast of raw magic. It prickled on his skin and he had been brilliantly focused for a few days afterwards, his magic growing stronger as it absorbed the power that the fey had given him. He had been a little hurt that Gellert hadn’t noticed how much better he had been in classes, but shook off the slight resentment, justifying his inattentiveness as just a byproduct of the strange sickness of the mind that plagued him still. There was definitely something wrong with Gellert. Indus was determined to find out what was bothering his lover, waking often in the night to find him thrashing and flinching form unseen foes. In the mornings Gellert made a valiant effort at acting like nothing was wrong, and it was a half-convincing act, his pretence of being healthy once more. Indus found himself almost believing it sometimes, but Gellert shook in his sleep and looked at him through a film of tears when he thought Indus could’t see, and he noticed all of it. The tail end of the summer had been strange; for all of last year Indus had been worried, watching helplessly as more and more of Gellert slipped away, trapped in fear for a future that he dreamed and couldn’t free himself from, but something had changed. There was a desperation now, a strange sense of urgency in their couplings, a fervour to their kisses that conveyed Gellert’s fear, and Indus wasn’t quite able to put him at ease. As he lay on Gellert’s bed musing on the odd glittering sadness of his lover’s eyes, Gellert walked into the room and dropped his books onto the desk, moaning into Indus’ greeting kiss and trying to smile. Indus looked at him sadly, trying to ignore the tremor in Gellert’s hands as he brushed the skin under the edge of his shirt, distracting them both with another kiss. 

Indus let out a gasping moan as Gellert sucked a bruise into the underside of his jaw softly, colouring the skin and licking over the mark that bloomed there as he manoeuvred both of them backwards towards the bed. He smiled, pressed his hands into the back of Gellert’s shirt and pulled it up, a rush of lust fuelled hurry, and Gellert broke away to pull the cloth over his head before reconnecting their mouths. Indus made short work of removing his own shirt, hands on the waistband of Gellert’s trousers when he felt something drip down onto his face. He looked up, surprised and worried to feel the tears falling freely from Gellert’s eyes and onto his skin, and brought up his hand to wipe away his tears. “Hey, we don’t have to do anything tonight if you’re upset.” He said, voice soft as he pulled Gellert down on top of him into a comforting hug.  
“No, it’s not, I just—” Started Gellert, but Indus silenced his with a chaste kiss and drew back with a smile.  
“Can I help in any way? Is it something I’m doing wrong?” He asked, voice uncertain. He wasn’t sure how to deal with this emotionally vulnerable version of Gellert. When he withdrew into himself, when frost crept into his gaze and his voice turned cold, Indus knew what to do. When he was angry he knew how to respond, when Gellert was happy his smile lit up Indus’ world, but this fragility was something new. Gellert reached up a hand to caress his fcae and smiled sadly, something like guilt glimmering behind the tears in his eyes.  
“You have done so much for me Indus, I could never think you were doing something wrong. Please, don’t ask me to explain tonight.” The plea fell from trembling lips, worry lurking in the eyes that Indus couldn’t imagine life without.  
“Of course.” he said, and pulled Gellert close, hoping that his embrace offered some small comfort. 

As Gellert’s tensely jittery shivers subsided as he fell into a fitful sleep, Indus ran a hand through the long blond hair fanning across the pillow and attempted to smile. With a sigh he slipped out of the bed and made his way back into his own room, sitting down at the desk and pushing his essays and sketches to one side.  
‘Dear mother,’ he began the letter, then paused, the ink drying on his raven feather quill as he wondered how to ask his question without it sounding strange. ‘Gellert means the world to me, and I hope it’s not a problem between us, but there’s something wrong. He looks sad, when he thinks I can’t see, and something haunts him. Have you heard of a curse that acts like that?’ Indus paused, a frown playing around his mouth as he tried to word his next question delicately. ‘I know that Grandmère was prone to fits of a similar kind, and was wondering if there were any way to alleviate the anxiety they brought, as Gellert’s episodes remind me of how she used to shiver.’ He signed his name and moved another pile of papers, looking for his family seal and the strip of black sealing wax that would hopefully be in the same place. He found the seal under one of his sketchbooks, and after a few fruitless minutes, the black wax on the floor, where it had fallen down the gap between the wooden back of the desk and the wall. He sealed his letter and sent if homewards with Cixi, who seemed to feel that it was important enough to be worth her valuable time, and flew southward until she was nothing more than a shadow against the starlit sky. Indus thought once more of the two rings in the bottom of his suitcase, but felt that it would be too much for Gellert, unstable as he was. 

As the weeks passed in the flurry of warnings they had received from the professors about their upcoming GZP exams, Indus noticed something odd. In mid-September Gellert had suddenly seemed a lot better, his eyes bright and his wit sharp once more. He had seemed almost back to normal then, fiery and beautiful in his passion, almost too bright to look at directly as he studied for his Arithmancy BÄZT through the night, but it didn’t last. Indus had stood, paralysed as he was struck by many the reasons he had fallen in love with Gellert all over again, reminded of the boy that he had spent so long pining over and the things they had shared. They had been almost normal for a few short days, Indus not having to worry if their sex would break Gellert and cause more tears, Gellert snarking and joking as he lay on the bed, pen in hand as he wove his magic with arithmancy. Indus had hoped then, had almost asked Gellert, but when he woke on the mid-moon morning of September, the date auspicious for any joining rituals, to ask Gellert to wear his ring, Gellert was laid low again, shivering uncontrollably and flailing in his sleep, close to shattering at the faintest blow despite Indus’ careful hugs and soft kisses that attempted to soothe the problem. Indus was worried about whatever substances Gellert might have taken to seem so much better, and had almost written to his mother again before remembering that she didn’t know Gellert personally, and would likely be rather alarmed if he brought up the idea of his lover taking stimulant potions. had given up on trying to ask what was wrong, the flinching guilt Gellert directed at him too horrible to endure more than twice, so he had taken to leafing through Gellert’s books when the other boy wasn’t around, trying to find out what was wrong. 

It took most of the next three weeks, grabbing a book and flicking through it when Gellert was in the library or holding forth in one of his debates, but Indus thought that he had found what he was looking for. It was a box hidden away under the bed, charmed to look dust-caked and empty, but Indus could feel powerful wards humming on every angle of the box and it seemed too misplaced in Gellert’s organised world to be genuinely empty. Pulling it to his room, he checked that the door was locked, though a lock couldn't stop Gellert if he really wanted to get in, and tried for the first time to break a ward that Gellert had not let him. After days of fruitless reading and attempts to break through Gellert’s ward system, Indus gave up on unravelling the magic surrounding the box, instead dripping melted billiwig and pulverised boomslang skin puree onto the wood, as it was suggested in the Black Family Grimoire as a powerful revealing potion that could strip wards away like turpentine did for oils. To Indus’ delight, the potent mixture did as promised, and he soon found himself staring at an unassuming book with a cover that shone like a dragonfly’s wing. He flicked through the book, looking for anything that Gellert might want to keep so strongly protected, and scanned a wary eye down the contents page, hoping for something that would jump out at him as something important. On the second page of the contents Indus noticed something that seemed to draw his eye, and flicked to page one hundred and fifty two. “The Price of Power”

Indus’ first reaction was fear. He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to face the one unconquerable force of nature. The Black family had had its share of necromancers, the ones fearful of death, and the ones driven mad by grief, but none had ever brought someone back, and Indus felt burning tears build up in his eyes at the thought of the empty page after his final chapter. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to die. He had so much to live for, he had a future set before him that he wanted to see. There was so much that he hadn’t done yet, so many places that he hadn’t been to, and yet even in his horror part of him cried for Gellert. Gellert was meant to carve the shape of the future, and Indus knew that he could do it, but it would tear him apart to get there if this was the price he would have to pay for power. A tear tracked down his face, splashing onto the page of the book that had sealed his fate, and Indus realised that he hadn’t even considered the idea that Gellert wouldn’t go through with it. He had always been taught to put himself and his family first, but even as he shivered with bone deep fear, he knew that he would choose Gellert and the future free of pain that he could give him over his family, over his very life. In that moment Indus saw things with a sudden clarity, felt himself let out a breath as the world seemed to shift on its axis as he saw what lay before him. This was love, and there had never really been a choice. He would give his life for Gellert, because in the end, Gellert was his life. 

Samhain dawned bright and cold, and Indus looked out at the glow of the sunrise behind the deep grey-blue clouds, knowing that it would be the last sunrise he would ever see, and took out a charcoal stick to try to sketch it. Over the weeks between finding the book and the date of his death, Indus had come to terms with what would happen and tried to make his last few weeks as positive as possible. He had helped as many people as he could, painted as much of his portrait of Gellert and him as he could manage and owled his family. He had sent a long heartfelt letter to his mother, trying to convey his love for the whole family properly without it sounding like a goodbye. He had held Gellert through the nightmares that he lived in, made sure that Gellert knew how much he loved him and buried the idea of a bonding ceremony at the back of his mind. It would only make it harder for Gellert in the end. The day seemed to melt by and as the sun set Gellert brought him a drink, coffee with a sickly sweet taint that Indus recognised as the flavour of milk of the poppy. He had been given a small amount once by his aunt when she taught him his poisons and plants as a child, and so he was familiar with the flavour. His heart thudded in his chest as he drained the cup, not wanting Gellert to realise that he knew, and shivered as drowsiness overcame him almost immediately. 

When Indus woke it was to the feeling of his bare back against a cold rock altar and a lancing pain in his chest, and he knew without checking that the moon was at its zenith. He opened his eyes to see Gellert crying, his eyes unique spark obscured by tears as he held the knife at Indus’ chest, sinking don into the flesh just above his heart. Indus brought up one hand to stroke the side of Gellert’s face, a smile forming at his flinch, putting the other hand over Gellert’s for the final time and holding the knife inside him. He almost smiled again, Juliet’s death scene flashing across his mind as Gellert made to draw the knife away. Indus tightened his grip on the ritual knife that he had given Gellert only a few short months before, and he coughed a little before speaking, his tone clear and full of warmth as he spoke the words he knew would be his last. “I understand, Gellert, I read the Diary.” He said, and then reached up to kiss Gellert, desperate and sad as he felt tears track down Gellert’s face to mingle in the taste of his lips as he pulled away. “I love you.” he murmured, and pulled the knife into his flesh. Gellert lent force to the action, the ritual dagger sliding through muscle and between his ribs, and the ghost of a smile crossed Indus’ face as the world faded away. He tried to draw breath, perhaps to quote the star crossed lovers out loud, but found blood bubbling up in his throat instead of words. He swallowed, not wanting Gellert to feel any worse than he already did, and gulped down the words he would have said. As blackness encroached on his vision in spots he felt his lips twitch into one last smile. ‘Thus with a kiss,’ he thought to himself as Gellert faded out of sight behind the darkness, ‘I die.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and Ye shall receive. Here it is guys, the one shot you have all been waiting for, and I'd love to hear what you thought of it.


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